


Six Ways to Sunday

by ordinarily (tofty)



Series: Strange Towns [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofty/pseuds/ordinarily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean makes Sam come in his little silk panties until they’re totally soaked through and then he makes him wear them the whole day in the car, while interviewing witnesses for the case they're working etc. Dean checks them frequently and whenever they start to dry, he makes Sam come again, until Sam's so fucked out and useless he can barely walk or talk. Dean makes Sam crazy until they get to the motel where he fucks Sam who is almost insensible. Bonus points for Dean making Sam come in a public place, Sam coming dry but loving being fucked despite being totally oversensitive. Also, Dean talking dirty is most welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Ways to Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round three of the blindfold kink meme, for the summary prompt.

Eight o'clock Saturday morning, and Sam's shaving so fast he's already cut himself once, is heading for an inevitable cut or two more. The panties are bunched around Sam's upper thighs. That was how they were when he woke up, and he hasn't bothered to pull them up all the way, yet, maybe hasn't noticed, or maybe he just likes them where they are, but either way, Dean approves of this. He smacks Sam's bare ass as he crowds in behind him. "Looking good, sweetheart," he says, leering at Sam over his shoulder.

"Yeah, well, no thanks to you. Why didn't you wake me up? I don't even have time to take a shower now."

"Well, duh, Sam. Why do you think I didn't wake you?" He buries his face in the flexible curve of Sam's shoulder and keeps talking, mouth against skin. "I want you to smell like sex all day, Sam." He sucks hard on the livid bruise he made last night, and Sam rocks a little back into him. He's stopped shaving, just looking at Dean in the mirror with the razor in his hand, paths traced through the shaving cream where he's already shaved. "Smell like come and sweat and spit. Taste like those things, too." He licks up Sam's neck, right up to the edge of the shaving cream, and Sam arches it for him, sweet and pliant, so quick to give in, only like this after a night like last night. Dean slides a finger over Sam's ass and into his crack, pushes just into his hole, barely to the first knuckle even though Sam can take a lot more, right now. "Still loose from last night, that's good, Sammy. Sore, too, I bet. It was quite a ride, huh?"

Sam rocks back again, harder, but Dean pulls his finger out, carefully pulls the panties up and stretches them over Sam's dick, mostly hard now. As the elastic snaps over the tip, Sam moans.

"Fuck, look at you, Sammy." They both look, the translucent silk panties doing absolutely nothing to disguise or contain Sam's dick as it rests against his taut belly, long and thick and blood-dark, tip already wetting the panties in a widening circle. "You're so fucking gorgeous like this it's a shame you ever have to put clothes on." He slides his hands around Sam's hips, dragging against the slightly tacky skin there, and over the panties, runs a fingertip hard up the underside of Sam's cock to the head. Sam shivers. "Yeah, this won't take long, will it, Sam? You'll be coming in a couple minutes." He wraps his hand as far around Sam's dick as far as it'll go around the panties and twists.

Sam leans forward, both hands on the countertop, and fucks into Dean's fist once, twice. "Tighter," he gasps, and Dean tightens his hand because he's a standup guy, and he was right, it's not even two minutes before Sam's coming, coating the inside of his pretty panties, all sticky and dazzled and so beautiful Dean can hardly believe it.

He doesn't even give Sam time to recoup, because let Sam start thinking straight and suddenly he's overthinking, and sometimes Sam works best when you keep him off balance. He leans over while Sam's still got two hands on the counter, bites his earlobe and says, "wear the panties under your suit, just like that. Got plans for you today. If we gotta work on a Saturday, we're gonna have some fun, too."

:::

He lets Sam relax into breakfast, as far as a guy wearing panties under his suit can. They've got half the à la carte menu spread out all in front of them, and papers and notes stacked into the spaces left over, so that the burgers and fries printed on the cracking vinyl tablecloth are barely visible. Sam is dividing his attention between the food and his notes, completely in his element and barely aware of their surroundings.

Dean knows he's gonna be changing that, but for now he's listening to Sam's theories like the hunter he is.

"So not really vampires at all? What do you think it is instead?"

Sam takes a sip of his coffee. "Not completely sure. Looks like something's making these kids think they're vampires without actually turning them, though."

"Huh. That seems like a weird thing to want to do. Why would anybody--"

Sam raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. "No clue. Seems like a dumb thing to waste your time on, especially since no one's killing anybody." He riffles through his papers and pulls out a printout of a photo. "The victims are fine, except they've all been sorta...gnawed on." The look of puckered lemony distaste on his face has Dean fighting to keep from laughing out loud.

They finish their breakfast, set a few appointments by phone, and, after everything's cleared off the table and they're finishing up their last refill, Dean toes off his boot and pushes his foot, without warning, into Sam's groin under the table. Sam jerks, his knees smacking the underside of the table hard enough to rattle everything on it.

Dean curls his toes. "Hey, Sammy," he says quietly. "Still wet under there, I bet."

Sam whooshes out a breath and leans back against his seat. "Uh…yeah."

"That silk just sliding against you, right? You're just coated in come." Dean pushes harder, feels Sam's dick firming up underneath his toes.

Sam's flush is spreading down his neck and disappearing under his collar. His voice is a furious whisper. He knocks Dean's foot away, but Dean just puts it right back and pushes again. "Dean, what are you -- we'll get thrown out of here. Ohhhh. We'll be lucky if we don't get arrested."

"Naw, Sam, no one can see under the tablecloth. I'm just trying to make sure you don't stick to those pretty panties, you know? Gotta keep you all wet so we can get you out of ‘em later." He pulls his foot away, and Sam makes a tiny noise of protest that makes him grin. "Yeah, that's the stuff. Want you to get yourself off right here, okay? Want you to come right here in the restaurant."

Sam huffs out a breath that's more like a whine. "Dean--"

"Yeah, come on. You know you want to."

Sam's eyes are hot, avid and angry and probably embarrassed too. They sit and stare at each other long enough that Dean's almost convinced that he's not going to do it, but eventually Sam tightens his lips and slouches farther under the table. Dean can't see him moving, but knows from the hitches in his breathing and the way his lashes flutter involuntarily that he's doing it, he's jerking off in the middle of the diner. Dean's so hard himself by the time Sam comes, gritting out subvocal curses, that he seriously considers jerking off too, but the plan doesn't call for that, so he tosses cash on their table and guides his slightly wobbly brother out the door with a hand on his shoulder.

In the car, he gives Sam a long, slow kiss. "Such a good boy," he says, and Sam rolls his eyes, but the way he chases Dean's lips is crazy hot, and he knows Sam's good with this.

:::

Sam's zonked out through the first interview, enough to have the teenager they're re-interviewing convinced he's dumb as paint by the end, but by the second he's more aware, and they both get an idea of what they're looking for at the same time.

"Hot Topic, for sure," Sam says, back in the car. He's scribbling furiously, using his knee as a table. "Looks like somebody's altering all the Twilight merchandise -- three out of five of the kids bought stuff from the mall store before they, um--"

"Chowed down," Dean finishes for him.

Sam grins a little, dimple flashing in his profile as he writes. "Yeah, guess so. And we just need to confirm the other two, and we're set."

Dean slaps Sam on his leg, crunching Sam's paper and earning him a glare. "Hell, Sam, you cracked this case wide open. Probably." He adds, "This calls for a celebration, don't you think?" And hell yeah, it does, a celebration that has them illegally parked behind a secluded neighborhood park, Sam in the back seat, one leg of the panties tugged aside and ass in the air and face tucked into the crease between the seat and the back while Dean stuffs him with three fingers, massaging his prostate until Sam's not even talking English, he's so strung out.

He's swollen from last night, but still not closed completely tight, and he's gotta be sore, gotta be, but when Dean leans over and offers up another finger, voice low and filthy, Sam just bucks into his fingers and grabs the base of his dick with a moan, his voice shattered.

Dean takes that as a yes.

:::

They get back on track once the stitch marks have faded from Sam's face, and finally there's just one more interview, in an old downtown loft-conversion building. Sam sits through it, totally silent, while Dean questions the kid. The flush riding his cheekbones seems permanent. He's still a little glassy-eyed. The kid's mom thinks Sam must be sick and offers him a couple of aspirin. Dean's pretty sure that they've reached the point in their day where Sam's incapable of concentrating on anything but the mess he's made of his panties and the mess Dean's made of his head, but just to be sure, he waylays Sam in the stairwell and pushes him tight against the wall.

"Show me," he says, and Sam gets it right away, which tells Dean exactly where his brain is. It's exactly where Dean's brain is, too. Sam unzips his slacks, and Dean pulls the waistband away from his skin. They both examine the damage.

"God, Sam," Dean whispers, fingers dipping in to rub Sam's pubic hair, soaked and matted with Sam's come. He lifts his fingers to Sam's mouth for him to taste, and Sam opens unhesitatingly, sucking like he's got a cock in his mouth instead of just fingers. When they're clean, Dean dips Sam's fingers in and lifts them to his own mouth, the taste so thick and strong on his tongue that he has to get a better taste. When he drops to his knees, Sam sways over him like it's just Dean holding him up.

It takes him a while to get Sam hard, because he's sucking through the panties and because Sam's come so many times already today, but Dean's nothing if not committed, and they get the job done between them. Dean lets Sam control it, so overstimulated he's hissing at the contact, and it's so messy and so good, Dean's face covered from cheekbones down with Sam's spunk, completely soaked through the panties. When Sam finally comes, it's a little spurt that still leaves him unable to walk until he's had time to recover, and they while it away trading kisses, Dean driving into Sam's mouth and Sam completely receptive, accepting Dean without protest.

They're still in the stairwell, still kissing lazily, when Dean pulls the little prostate vibrator out of his pocket. He's not sure Sam hasn't had too much by this time, but when Sam sees what he's holding, he turns around immediately for Dean to slide it right in, smooth and effortless.

:::

By the time they finally get to the mall and find a place to park in the Saturday afternoon snarl of it, they've spoken to every one of the vestigial vampires, Sam's theory's been confirmed beyond a doubt, and Dean's turned the vibrator on three times, a little longer each time. He leaves Sam in the mall parking lot with it turned on its lowest setting, eyes shut and mouth opening and closing slowly like a fish, occasionally twitching, not hard and not coming, and he's so limp Dean thinks he might actually have lost his motor control, but he doesn't object, sits there and takes it, and if he can take it, Dean will keep giving it to him, because that's the plan today.

He leaves the remote on the dash just in case, but he's not sure Sam even sees it, and knows that he's not gonna use it.

The case is pretty easy to sort out once he braves the black-clad, surly crowds at Hot Topic. The cake-lipsticked semi-witchy Goth chick who thinks all Twilight fans are clueless poseurs ("Now, Carmilla, that's a real vampire story...") and just wanted to have a little fun with them, she's easy enough to intimidate, and after a quiet five minutes where Dean explains exactly what the Winchester family does to entitled little shits who think it's funny to put temporary spells -- no matter how actually funny the spells might have been -- on Team Edward, the girl turns a shade of pale that would make the Gothiest Goth happy, promises to behave herself, and Dean swaggers out.

In and out in twenty minutes, that's how the best cases go. Dean drives back to the motel slowly, drawing it out a little because Sam's so pretty splayed out beside him, shivering and silent and watching Dean with eyes at half-mast, and also because now that they've gotten to the place in today's itinerary where Dean's gonna get off too, he wants to make it last a little longer. He knows it's not gonna take long once his dick's in Sam, he's been surfing surging waves of arousal all day, never at any point completely soft, and since the stairwell, he's been flat-out ready to come.

He wrestles Sam out of the Impala, up the stairs, into the room, just enough cooperation from Sam, who's moving like a sleepy kid too big to carry, feet dragging, stumbling, relying on Dean's momentum to keep them both moving. Gets him back to the room and Sam hits the bed in freefall, two hundred pounds of dead weight. Dean doesn't bother unbuttoning Sam's shirt, doesn't bother undressing himself, just takes Sam's pants off, pulls the panties down and gets his knees underneath him, unzips his own pants. He's all ready to thrust in, condom rolled on, lining up and everything, when he realizes that shit, the vibrator's still in Sam, still turned on, even, and there's a couple of minutes there when he's got to sort that out, his fingers fumbling with the vibrator and then running on sense memory alone because his own brain's forgotten how to tell his body what to do, and then he's fucking Sam, finally, dick hammering in, Sam giving a little grunt and moving his arms back to hold himself open for Dean, they're both moaning, five minutes tops and that's it, done and done.

It's only eight, but the day's over for both of them. Dean strips the soaked, sticky, by now downright disgusting panties off Sam, and wipes him down gently, the light touch enough to have Sam flinching even though he's mostly asleep, wipes himself down. He orders two pizzas and eats one by himself, box open on Sam's unconscious back, saves one for breakfast, and falls asleep in front of the TV. It'll be a lazy Sunday, he knows. One of their laziest ever.


End file.
